Requiem of Nights
by jcgonzo
Summary: Life - and death - are the aggregates of countless seemingly inconsequential decisions playing and magnifying upon each other. Ten years after Inaba, they've begun to catch up with Souji as he wrestles with Ikebukuro's mysteries. crossed with Durarara
1. Prologue: Friends and Murderers

Prologue – Friends and Murderers

The lights were out. The candle's small flame glimmered across the porcelain and glassware of the immense dining table, casting deep shadows across their tense expressions. The toy and textiles proprietor was fidgeting nervously, eyes cast away from the woman across from him as he roughly grabbed the cup of wine.

The police officer and store manager next to him were in no better shape. The manager had quite suddenly bit back a yelp, rubbing a sore upper arm.

"Ow, what the heck was that for?" he whispered loudly to his dinner mate.

"Stop making me nervous!" hissed the officer back at him.

"I'm nervous because you're nervous!"

"Shut up! I am not nervous." From outside of the room, something shook slightly against the door.

"But you just said that I was-"

The man next to her coughed. A quiet, polite noise from their host – but the table was silent again. Grayed hair, despite his obvious youth – he carried with him an unusual gravitas and authority.

"The facts are before us," he said quietly. "As are the alibis. If we wait any longer, the killer will have the rest of the evening to finish us off. Based on the evidence laid out before us, I am sure that the federal agent amongst us will be the last victim."

He smiled – a small expression, faintly amused.

"Choose wisely."

They fidgeted. She kept her own expression passive, her head tilted downward as if in deep contemplation. In truth, there was nothing to contemplate – she had figured it out quite a while ago. She was equally sure that her companion had as well – and can rely on him to stay quiet (and expressionless) on the matter until appropriate. A slender finger, clothed in a dark, arm-length velvet glove matching her dinner dress, curled around a long lock of dark blue hair as the grandfather clock ticked loudly in the shadows.

"If my deductions are right…" she started, and to her amusement two sets of Adam's apples bobbed in suspense. "It was… you." A nail the color of deep cobalt, black in the yellow, hazy glow of the candle, directed itself at the toy maker.

"Wh- what? Me? Why?" he protested in a panic. "I didn't do nothin'!"

"That means you did something!" screamed the officer as she jumped up in a panic, bowling the store manager over. "You admitted it! You're the killer! How could y-"

Another cough. They froze in place.

"I am sure he merely meant to emphasize his innocence," continued the lady in dark blue. "However, the evidence is stacked against him. The means of murder were uniformly direct, befitting his personality. Furthermore, as I have vouchsafed, I had seen him converse heatedly with the first victim – of which we now know was one of the two undercover agents assigned to this venue."

"'Befitting my pers-' Why, you!"

"And now he appears to be threatening me," she finished, mildly.

"GUILTY!" screamed the officer and manager both. "GUILTY!"

"I didn't do it!" roared the toymaker defiantly. "I'm the agent, dammit!"

"Liar!" snapped the store manager. "You're the killer! Put it to a vote!"

"…cast your ballots, then," said the gray-haired man, handing out a wicker basket. "Silent vote, of course."

The toymaker was glaring daggers at her. She felt a little guilty. But there was a prize at stake, after all.

The basket was returned to him. The results were, needless to say, unsurprising. The police officer, her short hair bobbing angrily, frog-marched the convicted out of the room.

She began to chuckle.

"…h-hey, partner, why are you smiling like that?" asked the store manager nervously. The gray-haired young man merely smiled, teeth glistening in the candlelight.

Her chuckle grew louder, a tinge of haughtiness. She reached down for her purse as the police officer marched back in, pride in a job well-done quickly crumbling into horror as the gleam of a gun barrel caught her eyes.

"Oh… no."

She smiled like an angel. "With both agents gone… I'm no longer restrained, am I?"

The trigger was depressed – twice. And Officer and Manager Hanamura found themselves drenched with red food coloring.

The inn manager and host, Yukiko Amagi, fell out of the nearby door, laughing fitfully.

/

"Totally unfair," groused Kanji. The dining room's lights were back on and the Inaba investigation team, aged ten years, sat around it. "Why the hell was Naoto the freaking murderer this time?" He rubbed his wrist – Chie was perhaps a bit too into her act.

"S-sorry, Kanji," said Chie, laughing nervously as she wiped her face clean with a dampened towel. She had changed out of her light green dress for one of the inn's yukatas, as did Yosuke.

"Meh, 's alright. Doujima-san was way tougher on me back in school. Still, Naoto? The Detective Prince as the murderer?"

"I told you so!" fumed Rise Kujikawa. The actress and former idol had a splotch of red down the front of her orange dress. "I told you we had to look out for her! Naoto-kun's tricky!"

"And that's why I had to take you out of the picture first," said Naoto, smiling mischievously. "Your sense of drama was surprisingly disadvantageous for me." She even made a half-scrawled note on the floor in "blood," nearly giving the game away – Chie's police training hadn't been for naught. The use of police tape to "cordon" off a section of the inn, however, was a bit excessive.

"Hey, where's Teddie?" asked Kanji as he looked around. "I haven't seen him since he was declared dead."

"I'm a corpse," moaned a voice under the table, directly below Kanji. He yelped and pushed back. "Betrayed by my friends, my body stuffed rudely away. What an unbear-able tragedy…"

"Dammit, Ted! The game's over. Get up already!"

Quite unlike the rest of the investigation team, now in their latter twenties, the humanized Shadow, a fragment of human psyche that had materialized its own ego, had not visibly aged. Had not, in fact, changed much at all. He was even dressed similarly, though his ruffled shirt was now complemented by a close-fitting jacket. He was grinning cheekily as he took his seat.

"It's a pity that Nanako-chan wasn't able to join us this year," he said. "Oh well. I'm sure she's having fun on the school trip!"

Three individuals, all male, desperately suppressed an old but shockingly… vivid memory. Three minds prayed in gratitude to whatever gods were listening that the inn had its own chef, and that he was most definitely not the otherwise stunning and graceful owner-manager.

"W-well, Souji taught her to cook, right?" said Yosuke, laughing. "I'm sure she'll be fine. Chie still burns the eggs when making breaaaooowww!"

"If my cooking sucks so badly, you can make your own breakfast in the morning," said Chie through a rictus of a grin.

"O-oh! Look! Dinner!" said Yosuke desperately. "Steak!" The aroma of Inaba's purported specialty wafted between the couple as a waitress rolled in with a small cart.

"…this isn't over," she said in a deadly sing-song voice. Yukiko was already snickering. Kanji merely rolled his eyes.

Under the table, Naoto squeezed Souji's hand. They knew that these yearly rituals were more for their sake than anybody else – of the original Inaba investigation team, it was her and Souji that found their life's path deviating away from the sleepy little town, still blanketed in what was now a peaceful, gentle fog in early spring – one that was, in contrast to that hectic year, now said to have rejuvenating properties, especially for athletes (A final farewell gift from an old adversary? But they dared voice that thought only once and never again). But it was still their anchor. No matter how far they drifted, this town and their friends would still be home.

It was good to be back.

"Oh, yes. The prize," said Souji. "Neither of the six victims were able to prove the identity of the villain before both agents were taken out. Only two of you submitted your guesses at the end. No, Ted, the butler didn't do it – Amagi Inn doesn't have a butler."

"Foo! I was bear-y sure of it!"

"First time that's happened since you drew the ace of spades four years ago," said Yosuke, grinning widely. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

"You still have the record for fastest time getting caught," teased Rise.

"Wha- hey! I did alright on the second game!"

"At any rate," interrupted Souji. "Congratulations, Naoto. As usual, everybody chipped in for the jackpot." He smiled, knowingly. "The LGBT charity again?" Kanji grunted in approval – gender and sexual identity issues being something most of them were familiar with to one extent or another, even if second-hand. The rest of the table cheered her success, or in the case of the unabashedly tactless Teddie, mumbling it loudly through a face already stuffed with steak.

/

"Kanpai!" they cheered and downed a shot of hot sake together. Steam rose from the outdoor hot springs as the men of the team lounged in the warm waters. It was hardly their first shot – Teddie was already flushed red, his eyes unfocused as he floated across the spring like a dead body. The only reason why he wasn't joining them on _this_ round of their celebratory toast was because Yosuke threatened to dock his wages if he wasn't able to get to work tomorrow morning. From the looks of it, this might already be a problem for the both of them.

"Tooootally unfair," griped Kanji, slurring his words slightly. "This is… what, third year in a row?"

"Eh? Souji won the one last year, right?" asked Yosuke. "Rise-chan managed to 'kill' three of us before he trapped her."

"No, no. 's not Naoto 'm talking about. The both of them, Yosuke. Totally unfair. Two detectives, man – we ought to change up the game a little. Or at least give 'em a handicap."

Souji nodded. "It sounds fair. We do have an advantage by our professions. It's not like everybody else has the time to practice investigative techniques – well, maybe Chie."

"Eh, she's law enforcement, not investigation," said Yosuke offhandedly. "Kinda glad, though – her hours are more regular than your uncle's were."

Souji thanked Kanji as the blonde man poured him a new cup. "Her instincts are good, though. My uncle's taken note of it." He grinned at his best friend as they clinked their ceramic cups together. "We might have to steal her away for a few months, have her train with Tokyo's finest."

"Oh yeah. You're moving to the Ikebukuro area, huh?" noted Kanji. "What was it… Heiwajima Kasuka? His ex turned out to be a serial murderer?"

Souji nodded, sipping at his sake. "I guess it's out on the tabloids already. Unusual girl – she cracked one of my ribs before Naoto got her with the elephant tranquilizer."

The two other men spewed their drinks, a rainbow spray of sake in the outdoor lights.

"What? Elephant tranquilizer?"

"Cracked _your_ rib? How?" Yosuke shuddered. "Jeez, you two. Is it too much to ask that you try and make sure you can come back another year?" He gave Kanji a slight, drunken grin. "Well, guess you lucked out, Kanji. You're not the one getting shot at."

Souji sighed as Kanji yelled out his protests. Water splashed as he clumsily tried to chase the more agile man across the water. "Guys, you got water into the sake. And Yosuke, stop teasing Kanji. He and Naoto dated all of one week in senior year – it's a dead horse." He sipped at the last of his own undiluted cup. "And he asked her out a whole year before you worked it up to ask Chie, so…"

"…damn. Fine. Fair enough. Sorry, Kanji."

"Eh, not a big deal," said the taller man, mollified. "'s not true, though. Souji's still lucky." He gave their former leader an uncharacteristic grin. "If I knew she'd look that good in a dress, maybe I'd have tried harder, yanno?"

Souji grinned with maybe a faint hint of private smugness. He'd chosen the dress over her somewhat lackluster protests. She'd finally moved beyond the chest bindings, if only out of increasing discomfort, and let her hair grow out – a stunning effect already, all told, as he had assured her. And for this, their tenth year anniversary since Izanami's capitulation… well, they'd all dress their parts for their somewhat whimsical tradition.

"So, wait," said Yosuke as he roused Teddie, propping him up before the boy could drown himself. "That case was solved, right? Why are you moving there?"

"Partially because Naoto wants the charges to stick. Mostly because of something… personal." Souji looked at his empty sake cup and sighed. Well, might as well tell them…

"Adachi broke his parole terms. He was last seen in Ikebukuro."

/

"Did you know that Rise-chan was dating Heiwajima-san?" asked Naoto, drying her long, dark blue hair with a towel from the inn. "Ugh, I'm going to get a cut when we get back home – sorry, but it's just too much work to wash it."

"Hmm. Kasuka-kun hinted something like that," said Souji distractedly. His girlfriend gave him an amused look as she turned around. They'd actually not gone out until a little less than a year ago, when their paths crossed again over a Yakuza fugitive, though due to their regular correspondences she was already well aware he had come along a parallel lifestyle to her own – one halfheartedly encouraged by Inaba's police chief. Doujima even bought him a bulletproof vest upon getting his license.

She was a little surprised to see how much of a workaholic he was. True, when she was shadowing him during their time together in Inaba, he was working three part-time jobs, babysitting his cousin and acing everything in school – not to mention act as town psychiatrist more often than not - but at least the part-time jobs were later explained as necessary means to fund their expeditions into the Midnight Channel, and he later explained the interactions of his social life with his unique metaphysical capabilities.

That would have caused some soul-searching as to the nature of his relationships – and especially the one with her – if he wasn't just as earnest with everybody even after his powers were made inconsequential.

"'Kasuka-kun,' hmm?" she said, leaning next to him to get a better view of the case file. "You two do share a lot in common." She smiled at his blank expression. "You're both quiet, aloof and require an electron microscope to read properly. I wonder if Rise-chan didn't pick up on him because of your similarities? You two did date for quite a while."

"Then I got stabbed," he said blandly as she traced an old wound across his collarbone with her fingers. That was another thing that wasn't readily apparent to her until after that year in Inaba – his relentlessness wasn't always appreciated, and was even reckless at times. Trapping Rise's stalker and attempted rapist back in college – genius in its execution. Except for the part where he personally apprehended the suspect. They broke up in the hospital that night and weren't on friendly terms for a good half a year, their relationship strained to the breaking point by his incessant need to prevent wrongdoings and protect others and her own nearly despairing worry over his safety. Come to think of it, the first thing Rise did when they broke the news about their relationship to their friends was take Naoto out for drinks and warn her to _not_ let Souji manipulate her into letting him have things his way all the time – something he was distressingly good at, as Naoto found out on her own.

For example, while her mind wandered, the file had been set aside, and the hand brushing against his scar had been lifted to his lips. And she could've sworn there was no way his other arm had room to move, much less find its way behind her, a gentle but pressing hand dangerously low against her waist. Her cheeks flushed as each slow kiss sent waves of heat up her spine.

"W-wait…" she breathed; her eyes unfocused as Souji leaned in, kissing the edge between her neck and her yukata. The warm smell of his hair was already incrementally intoxicating her. "Ah-ah…! Wait, I didn't bring a turtleneck," she gasped as he playfully nipped at her collarbone, the sleeves of her yukata slowly drawing past her shoulders. "A-and Teddie and Kanji are in the next room…"

"It'd take an earthquake to rouse them," he said, grinning as they both listened to the snoring duet next door. Souji blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself facing the ceiling with Naoto pouting down at him reproachfully.

"You're always taking the lead. It's not fair," she breathed as her hands ran over his chest. "Not fair at all…"

He smiled wordlessly and warmly, a hand roughened by years of kendo practice sifting through her hair.

/

Ten years, and the nightmares were still undiluted. Izanami-no-Okami's true form, revealed by the orb of insight Igor had crafted from his soul, still loomed over his friends and him, casting a terrible, horrifying shadow in the eerie light of the fog-filled stadium. He could smell it again – the stench of decaying corpses, thick, pungent and persistent in the still fog. He could feel the horror again – disturbingly human claws of bone and shadows oozing from the earth as he was shunted aside once, twice and once more by his panicked friends, tearing away those closest to him, Rise's fear and terror echoing loudly in his mind as his friends sacrificed themselves to keep him alive.

When the nightmares aren't so bad, he'd find himself in that still, quiet space between life and death. He'd hear the echoes of friends again. He'd stand up again, and once more Izanami would vanish, laid bare before the all-revealing light of myriad truths.

Some other nights, he would wake up in a cold sweat instead, the clammy yet burning touch of the damned still vivid against his flesh. He'd still remember the black and red pit of the earth, the haunting tatters of green and red cloth, the broken wirings from a headphone, a patch of fur, locks of blonde and red hair, torn remnants of a blue hat… soaked thoroughly in blood, hanging off despairingly familiar, gore-drenched skeletons.

And a pair of maddened, eerie yellow eyes – a final answer as to why he had never confronted his own shadow, never had to face down his own abyss. Of course he had to. All humans had secret fears and phobias – a multiplicity of them, of varying degrees. He was no exception – could never have been an exception. And his fear of death had come to claim him.

"_Now you're mine…_"

Only, tonight, the dream had a slight difference.

"_Now you're mine…_"

Adachi was at the bottom of that ravenous pit – but unlike how he was when Souji last saw him, he was neither broken in defeat, or gleeful in his madness. He was pale – eyes frightened beyond sanity. Hands reaching out desperately as skeletal claws seemingly embraced him – but his throat was cut, and the claws left oozing gashes wherever he was touched.

"_Now you're mine forever…"_

And as the darkness in his dreams hungrily consumed the man that was once his mortal enemy, Souji jerked awake.

"…yes, I understand. We'll be back as soon as possible." The faint click as a cellphone folded closed. "Oh, Souji. I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Naoto sat down next to him, pulling her yukata tighter around her as the cool, dawn air seeped into the room.

"Nightmares, not your fault," he mumbled as he sat up. She wrapped her arm around his, and Souji was thankful for the warmth. "Phone call?"

"Ikebukuro police," she said hesitantly. "…they found a body, Sou-kun. It… it was Adachi. Suicide."

A cold chill crept up his spine.

"_Now you're mine… forever…"_


	2. Chapter One: Ikebukuro Nights

Chapter One – Ikebukuro Nights

It's not as if Adachi Tohru, murderer twice-over and a culpable accomplice in however many kidnappings, died without regrets. But there was satisfaction, at least – a sense of rightfulness that would have been alien to him a decade ago, floating behind the panic and fear, as red oozed out of his throat.

His karma had caught up to him. Ten years of trying to live a straight life again, harnessed with a burden of sins grossly heavier than he had expected them to be – he was tired. He was satisfied. If there was a hell – and from what he has seen, from what he's personally _caused_, he was all but sure of it – it had finally come for him.

His throat gurgled as he tried to plead for it to be quick. The luminescent yellow eyes intimately close to him curled up in amusement, as if it understood him even without him vocalizing his desire. Then it narrowed cruelly, and a pale hand reached up through the obscuring shadows and mists.

Adachi tried to scream. He had nothing to scream with. The monster had pushed him – and suddenly the shadows were gone, replaced by the sounds, the smells, the lights of a busy city, late at night. And nothing at all but empty air and electrical wiring below him.

As he hit the wires, body convulsing as deadly currents surged through his body, he couldn't help but notice the irony of his own demise – and, with shock nearly matching the ones killing him, saw a tantalizingly familiar glimpse of his killer, just before he hit the grou-

There were actually many reasons for them to move to Ikebukuro. The crime rate in the city was unusually high, bolstered by a number of high-profile gangs in the area. Adachi's disappearance into the anonymous crowds of the city was an extremely personal reason for the both of them. Souji's post-graduate work on criminal justice studies was yet another.

The fact that her grandfather was dying was the real reason.

The Shirogane family had estates in the Tokyo area, held over from long into the distant past. They weren't particularly vast or well-adorned, but neither were the family's tastes. The immense library and basement lab was far more lavish than the somewhat rudimentarily maintained front yard would suggest. The only real evidence of their family's wealth and tradition were the portraits of the Shirogane heirs that lined the hallway to the main office – and even that was utilitarian, in a way, allowing the current heir and investigator to bring to bear some psychological pressure upon an intruder, be it a client… or, on rare occasions, a suitor.

Not that it had much effect on Souji, Naoto noted ruefully as they walked down its length, fingers touching lightly. They were both dressed in suits today, clothed formally to pay their respects to the elder Shirogane. They paused momentarily as Naoto reached the portrait of her father, bowing her head in a short prayer. She knocked on the office door soon afterwards.

"You don't need to knock, Nao-chan," said a stern voice. "You know I can see you."

Naoto sheepishly opened the door. Right, video cameras hidden in the picture frames. Actually, all over the more public areas of the small manor, including the front gates. The "Phantom Thief" incident orchestrated by her grandfather wasn't just about rekindling her passion for investigative work – the fact that she believed it possible to steal from the family at all was evidence enough for her grandfather to invest in better security.

"Hmm. You're looking thin, the both of you," he said as they both entered the office and bowed. "Don't put your work above your health." He coughed, wheezing a bit through the oxygen tubes affixed to his nose, grinning ruefully despite his physical discomfort. "You'll end up looking like me."

"If we both live as long as you do, it might be worth it," said Naoto with faux cheer. Souji only smiled.

"Well, come on. Sit. I'd have the maid get tea, but I sent everybody out to get some lab supplies and run some errands. Would coffee suffice?"

"Coffee would be lovely, thank you." Souji wordlessly headed over to the coffee pot, pouring out three small cups of dark brew and carefully adjusted the sugar content.

"Hmm," said her grandfather thoughtfully, wheezing lightly as he watched the young man. Naoto raised an eyebrow. "Yes, this is fairly satisfactory."

"What is?" asked Naoto curiously.

"My life," said the elder Shirogane simply. "He's a good lad. Sharp-minded. Maybe a little reckless, but so was your father. With you two, I don't have any regrets."

"G-grandfather, you sound like I'm going to be marrying him."

"What, you aren't?" said the old detective, mockingly shocked. Souji paused for a moment himself and chuckled as he put the coffee before them.

"Maybe after my post-graduate work," said Souji as a hand brushed against her shoulders. He took his seat and picked up the suitcase he brought in, unclasping it and taking out a few files. "A few of the documents you requested, sir."

"Bah, lay that aside for now. It's rare that I get to see you two these days. How _is_ your post-grad work, Seta-kun?"

"Nothing I can't handle," said Souji, shrugging. "I'm afraid I'm under the tutelage of one of your old rivals, though."

The elder detective snorted. "Yoshitake? He's still teaching? Old man couldn't find a fingerprint if you dusted it for him."

They laughed and talked for most of the morning, enjoying tea and freshly baked goods as the help staff came back. Nobody felt fit to note the elder Shirogane's health, who was now reliant on respiratory support, and needed help getting around his own house. It was only the sheer force of the old man's will that they had time alone without the servants – a transient illusion of normality.

Souji held Naoto's hands comfortingly as they left.

Naoto held Souji's hands reassuringly in the cold of the autopsy room. The body was covered – but the vague forms and shapes under the tarp implied a shattered ugliness.

Adachi was gone. Permanently gone.

"Investigator Shirogane. Investigator Seta," said the precinct detective wearily. It was late in the evening when they got confirmation of the identity. "I guess that ends the case for you two, huh?"

"Hmm. You sure it was a suicide?" asked Naoto. Souji donned a pair of latex gloves and approached the body. The faint, fetid smell of rot and crap intensified slightly as he lifted the tarp. The precinct detective wrinkled his nose.

"Jumped off a ten-story building? After cutting his throat too. Case closed, innit? He's a con on parole. Probably consumed by guilt."

"Detective, what do you think he cut himself with?" asked Souji suddenly.

"Um. I dunno. Never found a knife in the area, but that could mean anything. His place was a dump. Barely anybody even noticed the power outage when he fell."

Souji carefully placed the tarp back over Adachi's body and turned around. Naoto suddenly felt nervous – it was rare for Souji to express strong emotion, much less overt anger. Especially towards strangers.

"Souji, what's wrong?" she said quietly, dreading the answer.

"Fifteen lacerations," he said quietly. "The smallest was three inches across, two inches deep, all man-made."

"Huh- what?" said the detective, suddenly wide awake. "That's impossible! The coroner never said anything about that!"

"I suspect," said Souji quietly. "That the coroner didn't feel it necessary to give a _convict_ a thorough examination. All the cuts but the one on the throat… were internal damage."

"But- how-"

"All sorts of ways," said Naoto blandly. She shot an inquisitive look at Souji. He shook his head – they'd talk about it privately later. "For now, please inform the chief of police that you have a potential murder investigation on your hands."

"He's been informed," said a gruff voice from the doorway. "Itachi-kun, this is why you're still a novice. Shirogane-san, Seta-san, my apologies – the coroner did note the internal damages, but I wanted to see if you two'd catch on it."

Naoto nodded. "I figured as much. We do have a history with the victim, after all."

"Well, it balances out, given that he tried to kill you. Anyhow, I owe Ryoutaro a favor from college – you two'll have first dibs on the investigation. We've roped off the site. You need anything else?"

Naoto sat against the edge of a counter, carefully considering her options. "Seta-kun, how are we on supplies?"

"Restocked before we left," he said simply.

"Then, for now, I'd like a profile of the neighborhood and anything you have on the vic," said Naoto.

"And a weather report for the area during the week of the incident," said Souji.

The younger detective gave a quizzical glance. "A… weather report?"

"You can learn all kinds of things from the weather," he said.

It was Saturday evening, and four kids, three of which were Raira Academy's seniors, were out to play. Which was odd, really, as except for a few quiet talks at school and on the way home – which just barely constituted as play for them – Ryuugamine Mikado and Sonohara Anri were both extremely reserved and not usually one to bar-hop. While Anri certainly looked like she was just a bit of makeup and a nosebleedingly short dress away from mixing in with the club scene, both her and Mikado were in hoodies to ward off the early spring chill.

Masaomi Kida, however, had no such reservations. In fact, was quite the other thing. His connections throughout the city was the main reason they managed to go three, four bars without a card check – not that this was necessarily a problem in this town. Or maybe it was five or six? Mikado mentally counted woozily as Kida, as was his wont, flirted with both Saki and Anri as they made their way through the city.

"Hey, Mikado! Mi-ka-do-kun!" said Kida suddenly. Or maybe he's been talking for a while. "Man, I think you had a bit much."

"Completely your fault," said Mikado. "Sheesh. What is it?"

"You heard about that jumper a few days ago, right? Well… there's been a few rumors~" said Kida, grinning as he teased them in a sing-song voice.

"Ah, c'mon. I'm sure Sonohara-san doesn't want to hear about that kind of stuff," said Mikado, smiling uncomfortably.

"No, no, not about the body," said Kida happily. "I heard the police called in a couple private investigators over it! Ever heard of the Shirogane family?"

"Eh? Who?" asked Mikado, a blank expression fully declaring his ignorance.

"She's been all over the news!" said Mikajima Saki, giggling. "The 'Empress of Investigations!'"

"Ooh. Oh, yeah," said Mikado. Thinking back, there've been some posts on the Dollars site regarding a number of high-profile arrests. "Why'd she get called over for a suicide, though? Isn't that normal police business?"

Anri paused, her eyes widening. "Kida-kun, don't tell me…"

He motioned at them to hush just before they turned a street corner. Only now did Mikado recognize the neighborhood – a low-rent district, not far from his or Anri's place, but not exactly somewhere a young man would look to for a bar or night club.

"So, wanna find out what's going on?" he asked them, grinning impishly. "Even the Dollars don't know what's up, right?"

"We'll get in trouble," said Anri a little fearfully.

"Only if you trespass on the scene," said a new voice. A hand reached out behind the corner, causing Kida to jump in surprise as it tapped his shoulder. "You know, if you're going to sneak up on a crime scene, you probably shouldn't be so loud about it." Naoto gave the teens a reproachful look. "…is that alcohol I smell?"

"Um- ah…" started Mikado, sobered up in alarm. Anri also straightened up in a fit of nerves.

"…regardless," said Naoto, shrugging. "It would be a waste of a jail cell. Do any of you live in this area?"

"U-um…" started Mikado. A picture of a thin man, hair mussed and a scraggly, unkempt beard, stared out from under his nose.

"Do you recognize this man?" she asked.

* * *

A DSLR camera hung from Souji's neck as he sighed, scratching his head. Sure, the roof might've been cordoned off, as was… well, the terminal impact zone. That doesn't mean they had a better idea of how he died. Even the time of death was suspect – this neighborhood was one of Ikebukuro's more subdued areas, a back-alley way hidden from the sights and sounds of the shopping districts. Best they could manage was a few drug stashes unrelated to the demise of Adachi Tohru. There was a knife – an old switchblade, encrusted with grime and covered with dust. Given its undisturbed condition, it was clearly unrelated to the incident.

He mused. They weren't covering any ground that the local police haven't – mainly it was a verification of the facts presented. Adachi Tohru had gone missing some time before his parole checkup. He was working in the construction industry during the interim – and while Souji was sure the low-tier labor position grated against the former detective's sense of self, there was no indication of any problems since the start of his parole. For the last ten years, Adachi had been almost a model citizen – well, mainly, he kept his head low and stayed out of trouble. For all intents and purposes, that was enough.

They checked out his apartment. The only oddity would've been noticed by Souji and Naoto: the man did not own a television set. Not that major a detail, and only relevant if one knew the truth of his actions in Inaba a decade ago. He didn't even have porn – the man lived a fastidious, almost monk-like life.

Souji's eyes narrowed. Actually, even after Inaba, that was suspicious unto itself. The place had been lived in – cartons of instant ramen in the trash, empty bottles of beer in the recycling bin, and the futon had been slept in. But even lived in, the room was… lifeless. As if he spent only as much time as he could bear within its confines.

His phone rang. "Seta Souji speaking," he said.

"It's me," said Naoto. "Come down. We'll get dinner and discuss. Love you."

"Love you too. I'll see you down."

Well, he'd think better with some food. Maybe.

* * *

It wasn't the Black, Russian street hawker that intimidated him. There was a textile shop owner of their acquaintance, after all, who had a similarly impressive physique, and had as gentle an expression – at least, in front of cats and small children. No, the intimidating part had nothing to do with the scarred chef or the street hawker or the blonde bartender enjoying a drink at the bar with a shady-looking suited man in dreadlocks.

It was definitely the sushi.

"…kimchi," said Souji as he chewed thoughtfully. "Not bad, actually."

Naoto shuddered. This was something _nobody_ knew – not even Rise. The actress ate out all the time, though he sometimes cooked bento for her like back in high school. Excellent ones too – Naoto always felt privileged to find that Souji found the time to cook for her. The man himself, though, would eat _anything_.

"You sure you don't want to try-"

"No, thank you," said Naoto quickly. "I'll stick with the more… traditional fare." The barbequed eel was pretty good, actually – but her appetite always palled a bit whenever she snuck a glance at Souji's "House Special" plate.

"Hm. Oyster this time," said Souji methodologically. "Freshly shucked – still alive I thi-"

"Please," interrupted Naoto. "J-just talk about the case."

He grinned. The _tease_. "Adachi's room. Too bare."

She nodded, relieved at the change in topic. "Right. I felt as much as well. His mental state can't be read at all from his work or place of residence. In fact, he has no company whatsoever outside of work, other than his parole officer and counselor."

"You figured out his habits?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes. As suspected, he only occupies his apartment when necessary. There is a four to five-hour discrepancy between his end of a work shift and his coming home. Unfortunately, I know little beyond that."

Souji washed down the oyster thoughtfully with a mouthful of beer. "No suspect, no motive, and no idea how he really died. He had enemies in prison of course, but none are in a position to play into this."

Naoto sighed. "Usually I'd treat this as an intellectual challenge, but given _his_ role as a victim…"

He nodded solemnly. None of them would exactly wish Adachi well – in fact, they were originally supposed to track him down. His odd death, though, was ominous.

"You don't think…" she murmured quietly, a careful, investigative look at his gray eyes.

"…Ted's said that his side's been as peaceful as ever," he said slowly. But there was a flicker of doubt, barely readable but for the time she's been with him, on and off.

"So we're on the same page."

"No, not quite." He stared back at her. "My nightmares… Adachi was in them last time. At the… end."

Naoto suppressed a shudder, taking a deep draught of her green tea. "That's… unusual."

"I'm… not sure if his injuries in my dreams matches that of the corpse, but… his throat."

She nearly choked.

"…ah, I'm sorry." He drew out a napkin for her and handed it over. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

"…it's a bit light to draw any conclusions on for now," she said as she quickly got her composure back. "But given our experiences, I am loathe to disregard it outright. We… know that Inaba's safe. But as Teddie's postulated, the peace there may only be a reflection of the town itself." She looked askance at the restaurant interior. The two other men had already left, and the chef was busy cleaning. "Remind me to go over the Port City incident with you – there were some interesting parallels with the Inaba case that weren't publicly disclosed, and it happened only a year prior."

"Port City… Gekkoukan High," said Souji, eyes widening in interest. "The Kirijo Group invited Rise for a charity event in the area."

"Excellent. If Kirijo Mitsuru is in attendance, we might be able to arrange a meeting."

Souji contemplated Naoto for a moment. "This is a very, very thin lead."

"We have literally nothing else," she retorted.

"Yes, but-"

"JUST DIE ALREADY, YOU FUCKING FLEA!" bellowed out a voice from outside. Naoto and Souji both flinched as a deafening crash of steel and concrete followed closely. The sushi chef merely sighed.

"Just what the hell was that?" yelled Naoto, cursing uncharacteristically in surprise. Souji put a hand in front of her, stern eyes glancing at the entryway as the other hand reached into a pocket. A spring-loaded collapsible baton – illegal, technically, but at times necessary.

"I can take care of myself too!" she hissed as she moved his hand aside. "Hurry." He nodded and they rushed out, yelling out a promise to be back to pay for their meal.

Just in time for Souji to very nearly miss having his head knocked off by a flying vending machine. For the first time in her life, Naoto wasn't just glad to be a woman, but _short_.

"Holy shit!" spat out Souji – even more uncharacteristic than her own earlier outburst.

"!" roared the blonde bartender, his formerly otherwise low-key profile replaced by an almost palpable, undulating wave of berserker rage. An _entire vending machine_, a _second_ one, was already hoisted over his head, almost as if without effort. "STAY STILL SO I CAN KILL YOOOOUUUUU!"

A black-haired man, not much older and dressed in a dark fur-trimmed parka, laughed merrily – and dangerously – as he waved a flick knife. Not at the bartender, but at the two investigators.

"Ah, Shirogane-san," he said as he nimbly dodged a crashing mallet of steel and carbonated drinks. "I'm afraid I have bad timing today! But if you're still stumped about Adachi, look me up in Shibuya, yeah? I'm Orihara Izaya – it's nice to meet you."

His mocking laughter could still be heard as he made his escape from the blonde embodiment of rage.

Ikebukuro was an interesting town.


	3. Chapter Two: City of Rumors

A/N: So… yeah. Word of warning: plot-induced unpleasantries near the end. I swear it isn't gratuitous – and I'm just as disturbed as you are or will be. Was a bit morbid to write~

Also, I only now discovered that has an in-browser WYSIWYG editor~ hurr~ It's as if I haven't had this account for over a decade now.

* * *

Chapter Two – City of Rumors

There was very little to compare the blonde bartender's strength against. Which is a very, very odd thing for Souji to think, given what he's fought against. The sheer brute strength on display could've matched Chie at her finest, Power Charged, boosted with Tarukaja and delivering a God Hand technique so ridiculously overpowered, the impact of it would send tremors up his legs. Except that it took Chie precious seconds to prepare such a devastating technique (an echo of it still shocked Inaba's law enforcement's new recruits), whereas here…

"IIIIIZZZZAAAAYYYYYAAAA!" roared the man as he took to quick steps forward – and _launched_ the vending machine, a blur of commercial colors rocketing past Souji's head – _again._ There wasn't room to stand back, not with Naoto behind him – wait. No, she wasn't.

She was standing in front of the man, a flustered and overwhelmed look on her face and – shit, she was waving her badge!

"S-stand down!" she barked. "Stand down or I'll have you arrested!"

Souji ran up next to her and got into a ready stance. Her own close-range combat capabilities notwithstanding, she'd need backup. …or would have if the man didn't suddenly look as if he was deflating.

"Tch. Dammit," said the man, visibly depressed. "Arrested again, huh? Bastard planned this."

"Shizuo-kun," murmured his dreadlocked companion. "You alright?"

"Dammit," spat the herculean blonde. "Fucking Izaya. With the gangs, the robberies, and that suicide… STAY OUT OF MY CITY!" he roared almost desperately. Souji was reminded of a lion, roaring at a pack of hyenas to stay off his turf.

"…wait. Heiwajima Shizuo?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah? What's it to you?" said the other man, glowering.

"I knew your brother," said Souji simply. "You said something about a suicide? Come back in and we'll talk."

"Yeah? And if I don't?"

Naoto could carry a dangerous expression when she needed to. The metallic clink of her handcuffs accentuated it.

Dreadlocks sighed. "Look, just don't arrest him, alright? None of the local shops'll press charges anyhow. Shizuo-kun – I'll call in Vorona. You play nice."

"…damn. Alright, Tom."

"And exactly why wouldn't they press charges?" asked Naoto.

"Because he blows his paycheck paying them back," said Tom Tanaka, waving them off calmly.

/

"There is simply far too much we still don't understand," muttered Naoto. She heaved a disgruntled sigh as she kicked off her shoes at the entryway, the door clicking shut behind her as Souji followed her in. They were laden with grocery, and the small apartment was still strewn with boxes – they had planned to take the weekend off to get things in order.

"More should be revealed in time," said Souji. "Right now, we need our rest. It's been a long day."

Naoto nodded, tossing her hat onto the dining room table. "You want the bath first?"

"You go ahead. I need to send off an appointment confirmation email to my thesis advisor," Souji responded, rummaging into a box labeled "Electronics."

"Oh, shoot. I'm sorry, I forgot-"

"It's just an update," he interrupted, smiling. "If I thought I needed more time to prepare for it, I would've brought it up with you."

She nodded and yawned as she entered the bathroom. It was rudimentarily stocked already – a few towels and basic supplies. There was a small makeup set, gifted from Rise, but Naoto was more comfortable being low-maintenance, and rarely used it except for when she thought that her gender could be leveraged favorably. Souji's own supplies, needless to say, constituted a bar of soap, shampoo and shaving cream – she still felt a twinge of envy for his gender. He didn't even color his hair! The silvery strands were all natural – a psychosomatic feedback from a childhood accident that he barely remembers.

She carefully stripped out of her clothes, hanging her blouse and jacket and tossing the rest into the laundry basket as hot water poured into the bath. A hot bath was one of the few feminine luxuries she'd made an exception for as a young woman, and fully embraced now. They even paid a little extra for this place specifically for the size of it. In fact, said a mischievous thought, it was probably big enough…

"Sou-chan…" she called out demurely. "I hope that email doesn't take too long. The water's _very_ nice…"

She could hear a chuckle from the other room. "It's almost midnight. I thought you were tired?"

"Mm… not tired enough," she said, smiling to herself. "Why don't you come in here and help?"

"I just might," he said. "I… er…" A sudden, alarming thump. Naoto's eyes snapped wide as the lights of the apartment went out.

"Souji? Souji!" she yelled. She quickly leapt out of the bathtub and slammed open the door, running the short distance of the hall to the living room, cursing as she stubbed a toe against a heavy box of books. "What happened? Why-"

She gasped. He had collapsed against the wall, clutching his head. An eerie, blood-red moonlight dashed a vivid contrast as he breathed heavily, eyes unfocused. He suddenly screamed – an act of pain so fierce, it was as if it transmitted itself to her, causing her to clutch at her own forehead, driving her down to her knees.

And something she hasn't heard for ten long years spoke – a high, masculine voice in her own head; a deep, authoritative echo seemingly above him.

_Thou art I…_

/

It writhed.

From the base, dead earth it squirmed to a sick parody of life, a shapeless, thoughtless morass of regrets, betrayals, burdens, grievances, longings, ignorance. From the harrowing, red moonlight it gleamed with anger, rejection, lust, defiance, thirst, hate.

Hunger. It was Hunger. It was hungry. Subsidence, food, prey, fuel. It was empty, demanding fulfillment. Black, thick tendrils reached out, seeking for food. It could feel them out there. Fuel. Fuel in countless quantities. But small, unappetizing. There was a deposit of it above him, glimmering brilliantly in its faux-sight, still trembling 'neath the terrible blood moon. It reached for it, dense, deliberate tendrils slamming into concrete-

"Found you, you ugly bastard!" snapped a voice.

_Fire._

/

A blast of thunder ripped across their ears. Naoto was the first to recover, grabbing for a box innocuously labeled "Supplies (W)" and hefting out a heavy six-chambered revolver. "Stay here," she snapped woozily at Souji. "You're in no condition to fight."

"Wait-" he tried to get his breathe under his control. "Neither are you. Clothes."

"If this has to do with the TV world, then there's no need for modest-"

"Voices," coughed Souji, pulling himself up. "Definitely heard a-"

"_You persistent bastard!"_ yelled somebody on the street.

"…dammit," cursed Naoto. She tossed the gun at him. "I'll grab a dress, you scope out the situation!"

He half-stumbled onto the balcony, eyes widening at the scene before him. A goateed man was holding his own against what could only be described as a massive amoeba with a mask – other than the yelling and thunder of multiton tendrils of darkness slamming into concrete, the city was eerily silent and devoid of all but the light a full, crimson moon. At least the man was armed, thought Souji with a sigh of relief – common weapons weren't fully effective against Shadows, but it bought him time… and _why_ was he holding it to his own head?

"Wait, stop-" yelled Souji, but his breathe was caught as the loud _click_ of a trigger echoed out… and a dazzling explosion nearly knocked him back into the apartment.

"_Trismegistus!"_ screamed Goatee, and a blazing inferno swept up the Shadow.

/

Since helping to save the world twice over, life has worked out alright for Iori Junpei. It didn't hurt that he had a close-knit, battle-forged friendship with the head of the wealthy Kirijo Group either – a minor case of nepotism saw him hired as a public relations agent where his primary duty was to curry favors and arrange sponsorships with the national baseball league. It was a fun job, mostly, and he did it well, responsibly doing his part to help support the increasing influences and responsibilities of the corporate conglomerate. Though the days of SEES had long since passed, and even some of his college friends were starting to drift away, there were still some bonds that remained unbroken.

One, in particular, was so integral to his existence it could be said more realistically that it was a bond _to_ himself – not narcissism, but a spiritual alchemy with little precedent. It was, in a way, a literal guardian angel and voice of conscience – the heartful remnants of a melancholic yet fierce, red-headed girl that saw it fit to bestow the last of her existence to a young, troubled man.

_Left. Watch the large tentacle,_ whispered a quiet voice in his head, and left he dodged, barely avoiding a short and terminal fate as a puddle of gore beneath a heavy, black weight the size of a bus. Fire had done little to ward off the great beast – distracted it, yes, from whatever it was attempting to claim. "Dammit," spat Junpei angrily. "If Akihiko was here, or Yukari as backup… whoa! Somebody's up there!"

The sharp crack of gunfire – once, twice, thrice – and the great shadow shuddered, divots torn into its side, splashing from the bullet's wake. It didn't stop.

"Don't bother with weapons!" yelled Junpei at the gray-haired man on the upper floors. "I've got this!"

"It's too big for you to handle alone!" snapped the other man.

"Stand back! Way back!" yelled another, higher-pitched voice. A vaguely familiar-looking blue-haired woman ran up to the balcony, something clenched in her fist.

_Back away_. Junpei gulped, and leapt.

/

Souji blinked.

"When did you get grenades?" he asked hoarsely.

"D-don't ask," she said, wiping the soot off his face. "Old case. Is it still-"

Souji jerked, pushing her back as a massive, oozing tendril reached up to them. Her revolver barked three times, driving it back.

"It's not a pushover Hablerie," he said, a grim smile on her face. "More direct measures? The man down there has a Persona, you saw?"

"No, I was getting dressed – do you think…?"

Souji wordlessly marched back in, grabbing a golf bag and ripping off a cloth covering. The hilt of a katana was exposed.

"Souji!" she snapped. "Don't do anything reckless!"

"It's a little late for that," he said. He walked purposefully up to the balcony, a blade gleaming over his back.

"Oh, gods above. We're five stories up! Don't you dare- SOUJI!" she screamed angrily.

He jumped.

/

"Did he just-" started Junpei, still disoriented by the explosion.

_Blade of Totsuka_ flashed, a nearly vertical, iron-red streak of steel slicing through a hundred disturbingly human hands of shadows before impacting against a granite-hard palm. It surged and _heaved_, flinging Souji away. From above, the blue-haired woman screamed – not in fright, but a loud stream of curses that scorched Junpei's ears.

_Feisty_. "Shush. How is the sword-swinging lunatic?" _Alright for now – cover your eyes._ "What-"

"Yamatotakeru!" yelled the woman above him. "_Megidolaon!"_

_Very feisty._

/

A brilliant haze of godly light – one so bright he could see it through his tightly clenched eyelids. It was fortunate that a Persona's abilities rarely affected anything other than its intended targets - if it didn't, there might not be an apartment complex left.

Despite the grand display of power, however, the monstrous, shapeless form still remained, if… lessened.

Souji jerked to his feet. It wasn't just lessened. Something was in it. The ooze began to dissolve unto itself, revealing its core.

"…Adachi," said Souji tersely, but his eyes widened. The man's half-revealed body hung limply, as if suspended by the oozing shadows around it. His eyes were empty – not expressionless, but literally empty, two infinite tunnels into some frightful plane. It was more as if the Shadow was wearing him as a skin. A wave of revulsion washed over Souji as an ethereal tarot card formed in his hand.

The abomination _smiled_ at him.

"Izanagi-no-Okami," whispered Souji in horror, clenching his fist over the card. "Ziodyne."

Lightning crackled, obliterating its form.

/

"You are _not_ invincible, no matter what imbecilic derangement might have convinced you otherwise," Naoto said coldly, a hand clenched tightly around Souji's collar. Despite the disparity in their height, he wilted as if being stared down by a giant. The moon had returned to its calming white gaze, illuminating the brilliant red mark across Souji's cheek. "I don't care if your Persona lets you shrug off tank rounds! If you _ever_ scare me like that again, for _any_ reason…" She faltered, but hardened her grip. "I'd rather be alone than in a state of constant fear, do you understand?"

"…I'm sorry," he said, his hand enclosing around her own. "I acted rashly."

"We're not sixteen anymore," she said as he got closer. Anger subsided, replacing itself with worry. To her chagrin, she was starting to tear up. "Don't just go gallivanting off, thinking a Diarahan'll or Recarm'll get you back on your feet. We don't even know if the rules still work the same here…"

"Oh, they work the same alright," said Junpei as he rounded the hallway. "Thanks for the letting me use the phone. Name's Iori – Iori Junpei." He gave a bemused smile to the two detectives. "Who would've thought that the 'Empress of Investigations' and her boyfriend were in this particular line of work?"

"Seta Souji. I see you already recognize Naoto. …I have to admit, it was a shock to see another Persona user. What brought you here?"

Junpei tapped his head. "Trismegistus woke up. First time in… what, eleven years now? Thought I was going crazy for a moment – then I saw that big bastard crawl past my hotel, heading to your place." He laughed grimly. "Only, if my experiences were anything to go by, it might've been a mistake to kill it."

Naoto narrowed her eyes. "What exactly do you mean?"

Junpei blinked. "Huh? You don't know?" He looked around. "Actually, where are your Evokers? I thought Mitsuru might've been recruiting on the sly, but-" It was his turn to narrow his eyes at their blank expression. "…wait, you're not part of the Kirijo Group, are you? Just what the hell is going on here?"

"I could ask you much the same," said Naoto darkly. "The Kirijo Group was closely linked to an 'Apathy Syndrome' pandemic more than a decade ago – and now you tell me they're involved with Shadows?"

"Whoa, hold on!" said Junpei, gesticulating wildly. "That was Mitsuru's grandfather's fault-"

"So they _were_ responsible for the incident!"

"It's not like that!" snapped Junpei, his hands tightening around his Evoker.

"Lay down your gun or-"

She stopped. Souji put a hand on her shoulders. "Hold on. That's not a real gun, Naoto. I saw him use it on himself. Iori-san, may I examine it please?"

Junpei hesitantly nodded, handing the Evoker, slightly rusty from ten years of non-use, to Souji. To all appearances, it was a semi-automatic pistol, except for a lack of a magazine or hollow barrel.

"…strange device," murmured Souji. "It's like my Persona's resonating with it. What _did_ cause the Apathy Syndrome case, Iori-san?" He handed it to Naoto, who shared his puzzled expression as she handled it.

"Shadows," said Junpei darkly. "Demons, basically. There was a… a kind of a nest of them around my old high school, trying to summon this thing called 'Nyx' and end all life on Earth. My friends and I stopped them, but…" He glanced away, an old memory still sore. "Apparently, some of our sacrifices were in vain."

"…hmm. Not completely unlike our experience," said Naoto, glancing at Souji. "Though there are a few inconsistencies."

"Yeah, well, I didn't try to understand it," said Junpei dismissively. "All I know is, that big one? Won't be the last of its kind. And killing them only feeds the Big Bad they're working for. …the red moon's a new one to me, though."

"As it is to us," said Naoto. "What you describe sounds like some kind of sacrifice ritual."

"Yeah, I suppose it does," said Junpei, blinking.

"Human sacrifice," interjected Souji. He rubbed his chin – faint stubbles were beginning to grow in. "Naoto, Adachi was in the center of it. Or something that looked like him."

"Wait, the jumper?" asked Junpei as Naoto gave Souji a warning look. "…it wasn't a suicide? Wait, _human sacrifice?_"

"What my partner _meant_ to say," grated Naoto. "Is that we are looking into a few inconsistencies in the case. And that it would be preferable if you were _discreet_ about tonight's happenings." She stifled a yawn, suddenly aware of how late it was.

"Ah… uh, don't worry," said Junpei uncomfortably. "I don't wanna drag the Kirijo Group into anything myself. Here – my business card."

Souji nodded, reaching for his wallet. Junpei bowed politely as they exchanged cards.

"Look, Kirijo-sama's going to want to talk to you," said Junpei. "She'll probably 'execute' me if I don't arrange a meeting, even." Souji raised an eyebrow. "If your case involves Shadows, there's nobody more in the know. She'll be in Port City this weekend, so…"

"Thank you, Iori-san," said Naoto. "We greatly appreciate your help in our case."

"Yeah, just don't go jumping out of any more windows until then," said Junpei, grinning at Souji as Naoto handed back his Evoker.

Souji chuckled, then winced as Naoto glared and socked him in the arm.

/

Normally, sleeping on the couch wouldn't be entirely uncomfortable. They've done it a few times, prior to moving – late night noir dramas, or simply days and nights so long that they collapsed on it, not able to move any further into their abode. It pulled out into a futon anyways – and while it's been a while since he's irked her enough for him to get the couch treatment, it's not like he absolutely can't bear not having her sleep by his side.

The dreams tonight were rather unpleasant, though.

Souji's had the distinct displeasure of having to handle a decaying corpse before. It was his feet-first plunge into Naoto's professional world, and as it turns out it rarely involved heroically chasing down storybook villains with a clear-cut agenda and repetitive modes of conduct. Mostly, it was a lot of research, a lot of slow and meticulous analysis, and a bit of soul-scarring nightmare.

Being up close and personal with a corpse left exposed to the elements of a warm and humid Hokkaido summer familiarized him with the small, easily overlooked telltale details of foul play and their symptoms after weeks of decomposition, as well as giving him a far greater respect of the resilience of the diminutive woman detective. The disturbing slick of ichor-covered bones still gave him the creeps.

Was giving him the creeps.

No, was freaking him out.

He was struggling against sharp, hard claws of bone oozing gray and green, feeling his skin burn horrifyingly with blight and sickness. He tried to scream, but they've torn out his tongue, gagging him with writhing maggots and waste.

Hot tears streamed down, blinding him as he thrashed against his befouled imprisonment. He could see pale corpseflesh slowly rising out of the muck, tried screaming again as Adachi's empty eyes leered, a rictus – a real rictus – plastered on his cracked lips.

_That's how it feels to be me_, the grotesque parody hissed in an unnatural voice. The corpsemask began to dissolve, and Souji finally succeeded in finding his voice, a guttural, primal sound of fear as he finally saw what was beneath, finally recognized-

He jerked awake.

The gray-blue dusk was cast over his face, the early morning sky and sound of delivery traffic calmly greeting him. Sweet, blessed amnesia was already settling over the memories of his nightmare, though his ragged breathing and cold sweat was evidence enough to trigger unpleasant memories.

"The hell," muttered Souji. He carefully got up and approached the bedroom – Naoto was breathing peacefully. Good. She's a light sleeper – if he'd actually screamed, she'd already be dragging him to the nearest psychiatrist in order to help him. If at all possible, he'd wanted to avoid worrying her.

He went into the bathroom and flicked on the lights, wincing as the sudden brightness seared his eyes. No scratches, no bruises – his face looked a bit ragged, but that was mostly the need for a shave and the lack of sustained sleep. He ached too, but entirely from last night's incident, and he remembered Naoto's admonishment about not being a resilient teenager. So far, so good. He washed his face quickly, dragged a razor over the grayish whiskers and brushed his mouth as thoroughly as possible.

By the time Naoto woke up, he had a full four-course breakfast laid out for her in apology (she was almost childlike in her delight), and there wasn't the slightest memory of the nightmare left.

/

- _Kanra has entered the chatroom_ -

Kanra: Ohayo~ \(^o^)

Kanra: Ehh? Anybody here?

Setton: Ah, Kanra-san. Ohayo.

Setton: Did you hear an explosion last night? Around 1 AM?

Kanra: Explosion? O_o Ehhh?

Kanra: Are you sure you weren't dreaming?

Setton: …maybe.

Kanra: Maybe it was an alien abduction! ^o^

Setton: …n-no way! wwwww Like anything like that'd happen.

Setton: Right?

Setton: Kanra-san?

- _Kanra has left the chatroom -_


	4. Chapter Three: Entwined Intentions

**A/N: Sexual content, fleeting drug references. You've been warned.**

Chapter Three – Entwined Intentions

It's dark when Risette wakes up. The digital display on the hotel room's radio alarm shone 8:00 AM as saccharine muzak blared out. A peevish hand reached out from the warm covers and slapped it, stopping the intrusive sound. She squirmed, turning back around and grabbing the warm body next to her, snuggling closely.

"You have an appointment in an hour, right?" said a quiet, toneless voice.

"Mm, don't wanna go."

A hand gently lifted the blanket off her bare shoulders. Rise burrowed tighter against Kasuka.

"Go take a shower," he said, stroking her hair away from her eyes. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Oh, fine," she pouted. She sat up and yawned, stretching widely and arching her back. She suddenly shuddered as goosebumps flared up her exposed skin. "Did you turn the heater off?"

"Wasn't on in the first place," said Kasuka, kissing the nape of her neck. He got up as well, reaching for the pants and shirt he discarded on the floor last night.

"No wonder it's so cold-" Rise blinked in surprise as her cellphone went off. "Nao-chan?" she said as the caller ID flashed on the screen. She drew the sheets up her over breasts and sat back as she thumbed the touchpad. "Hey! What's up? … No, it's fine – I just woke up. Ehh? Really? Yay- … Aww, business? Alright. We're having dinner Saturday night, though! You promise? Good! Yeah, alright – talk to you later!"

"Shirogane-san?" asked Kasuka.

Rise nodded. "She and Souji-kun are coming over to Port City for the weekend," she said as she leaned over the bed, pulling out a luggage case underneath. She hummed pleasantly as Kasuka sat down next to her, buttoning up his shirt with one hand as the other stroked her backside. "You free Saturday night? Ooh, shoot – did I leave the black one back home?"

"Other bag," said Kasuka. He pondered. "The interview ends at seven."

"Seven's fine," said Rise. She jumped out of bed and opened the hall closet. "There's the shirt! She pulled out an oversized t-shirt emblazoned with a local rock band's local on it, posing coquettishly with it draped over her. "What do you think? This, jeans and a ponytail?"

Kasuka nodded. "Need to borrow my ray-bans?"

"Um… nah. I'll wear my glasses. It's overcast today. I'll meet you downstairs~"

Kasuka nodded, kissing her on her left temple as he adjusted his belt buckle and she entered the bathroom. He stepped out of the hotel room, the vestiges of what little emotionality he had seemingly evaporating in the hallway lights, his eyes going dead as he nodded at the two security officers on either end of the hall. The windows here, too, were closed off – but for the alarm clock in the room, there'd be no indicator of the time of day at all.

Kasuka allowed himself a small sigh as he entered the elevator, thumbing the button for the third floor. Yes, they requested privacy measures from the Kirijo Group – but isn't renting out an _entire hotel _for a fifty-room version of a three-card Monty, all for the sake of warding off paparazzi and fan-stalkers alike, a bit much…?

* * *

"Dammit! They covered up all the windows!"

"How many floors?"

"All of them! It's insane!"

"KA-SU-KA! KA-SU-KA! KA-SU-"

"RI-SE-TTE! RI-SE-TTE! RI-"

The Bentley drifted quietly by a side road, deftly avoiding the crowd in front of the town's largest hotel. Some curious tourists did give it a curious glance – European luxury cars weren't a total surprise in this international trade town, but still somewhat rare. It ended up stopping three blocks away, veering into the back entrance of another hostel, farther from the downtown scene.

The tinted windows of the rear right passenger side slid down. Kirijo Mitsuru, the elegant empress of Kirijo Conglomerate, nodded at the two celebrities, camouflaged in casual wear, as the driver quickly stepped out and opened the door for them.

"I presume you had an undisturbed night's rest?" asked Mitsuru, smiling faintly.

"Yeah! Thank you! There wasn't even anybody camping out at front!" said Rise happily. "That's never happened before!"

"We enlisted the aid of another hotel to act as a decoy," said Mitsuru.

"That was extremely generous of you, Kirijo-sama," said Kasuka.

"Please – the formalities aren't necessary," said Mitsuru, waving a dismissive hand. "You are doing the charity an enormous favor, after all."

"No, not at all!" protested Rise. "The typhoon barely missed my hometown – I feel that it's more my duty than it is charity. I should be thanking you for offering to run this fundraiser."

"Inaba does seem unusually blessed, doesn't it?" mused Mitsuru. "Almost divinely protected. The storm almost seemed to veer around it." Rise mentally flinched. "I've heard much about its inn."

"I-I can ask Amagi-san about availabilities for you," said Rise.

"Oh, would you? That would be most welcomed-" Mitsuru's brow furrowed as a digital ringtone interrupted their conversation. She glanced at the touchscreen display hanging off the back of the front passenger's seat. "My apologies – my husband…"

"Oh, no, don't worry."

Mitsuru brushed a finger against the panel. "Yes, dear?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but Iori delivered a report early this morning. Er, 'Polar Juno Garden.'"

Mitsuru was silent for a good three seconds; the air seemingly chilled two degrees. "Iori is public relations. What is he doing anywhere near R&D- no, never mind. We'll speak of this later."

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the convention hall this afternoon."

"Please do." She tapped the display again, and smiled politely at her guests. "My apologies. Business comes at the least opportune times. Shall we head over to Café Chagall for breakfast? They make a most excellent coffee."

* * *

This is how an investigator gets in contact with the supernatural in Ikebukuro:

First, drop by the police station. The chief'll be yelling at one of the traffic cops, the latter's expression hard to read from his lean, deeply chiseled face and tinted visor. Apparently, the man has a reputation for… excessive thoroughness, whatever that means.

But you're not here for the chief – the preliminary report's already been filled out anyhow. You're here today for _rumors_ – gossip amongst the corporals, a blabber-mouth of a rookie detective, a word from a sergeant regarding information of the local gangs and other such tidbits like that.

Next: Raira Academy, itself infamous a few years back for a rash of violence centered on a mere three names – not even gang related. Heiwajima Shizuo has been infamous for a very long time, as is Orihara Izaya. It's good to know the reputation of shady fellows that suddenly offer unsolicited aid – though given the files on _him_, it's almost certain that just asking about him is a way to alert him of your presence. No matter – he'll have to be dealt with anyhow.

For now, the intent is to talk to a high school senior, nondescript but for the company he keeps: a flirty, confident young man with bleached hair and a violent past, and a former Slasher victim described by the rookie mainly by way of a vaguely offensive, chest-high scooping gesture with both hands.

The kids Naoto ran into the previous evening. Go figure. They're wary but amicable – none of the three have any reason to trust authority figures until it's hinted that you _know_ their secrets already, at least to some extent, and you're not looking to cause them trouble. The Slasher victim – Sonohara Anri – vaguely mentions she might know a medical practitioner that might know the contact you're looking for… and now you find yourself dragging your dampened coat closer in the spring rain, waiting patiently in the apartment complex's lobby for the owner of a black bike with its headlights missing.

Souji could've sworn that the thing neighed at him as it pulled up.

She's tense – is everybody in this city working in the legal gray area or something? Not that Souji could complain, given his own background. He decides to head off any misunderstandings.

"First, I'm not here on behalf of the police department," he said, holding up both hands conciliatorily. "Though I think you can help me help _them_ with a particular crime mystery."

She nodded. His eyes widened as a wisp of black smoke slipped out as a large touchscreen phone popped out of her sleeve, though she didn't seem to notice his reaction. A rush of typing occurred, faster than seemingly possible.

'What do you need my help with?' was written on the screen.

"First… is it true you are a 'Dullahan?'"

'…and if I am?'

"I have a theory…" said Souji, deep in thought and hand on his chin as he strolled around a nervous Celty Sturlson, oblivious to the rain. "Like seems to attract like. And when I followed an old… acquaintance of mine to this city, an old secret of his seemed to have been attracted to him. An old… peculiar secret."

She waited for him to continue – he seemed to be taking an avid interest in her steed. What part of a motorcycle could possibly _whinny?_

"Maybe I'm on the wrong track – there's a _lot_ of oddities in this city. Maybe the Slasher's returned-"

'No, she hasn't,' typed Celty quickly, rushing to her friend's defense – and just as suddenly aware of the mistake she's made, blabbing impulsively in front of the investigator. Nobody was supposed to know who the Slasher was, much less be familiar enough to know, concretely, the gender.

Oddly, he reacted as if disinterested. "Alright, not the Slasher then. Ms. Sturlson, where were you on the night of the red moon?"

* * *

While Souji tackled the metaphysical angle, Naoto took a more mundane approach.

She did it by _slinking_ into the bar, and having her drinks bought for her.

As it turns out, there were some decidedly advantageous aspects to being a female private investigator. Her success record and subsequent fame, for example, could be a dual-edged weapon at times – a little makeup and a dress was often all it took to shake off suspicions from her target. Then there was the matter of the underestimation of her gender – men who think they're about to get lucky aren't always great at questioning the motives of a pretty face.

And to Tatsumoto Ryuhei, former researcher at Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, and victim of Nebula Corporation's hostile takeover, using a woman as a sounding board – or otherwise – was harmless. It's not as if he was talking about anybody _important_.

"That bitch ish to blame," he slurred, deep into his fifth bourbon on the rocks. "What kinda boss whores hershelf out to her _little brother?_ Was- wasn't even a company shecret." He tossed the glass back and demanded another from the bartender. "I- I worked for Old Man Yagiri for_twenty fucking yearsh_. Should've made me head reshearcher, dammit." He muttered disconsolately. "F-fucking Kirijo Group. Al-alsho run by a woman. Fucking shcary rumors about them. Nebula's not gonna hit what knows'em."

"Rumors?" asked Naoto demurely, mentally cringing at she leaned against the man, pressing his arm into her bosom.

"Shomething about… 'gatesh of the collective subconshious.' You wouldn't undershtand," he said dismissively. He suddenly leered as he realized where his arm was and pawed at her. She batted his hand away harshly, remembering in time to giggle. "Why don't you and I… go back to my place?"

"Don't forget to finish your drink," said Naoto, smiling coyly as she lifted the glass to his lips.

By the time they made their way out of the bar, with Naoto helping him walk straight, he was out like a light, and stuffed into the alleyway. The tiny white packet, still powdery on the inside, was lifted away by the garbage crew in the morning, along with the rest of the trash.

* * *

Souji and Naoto stared at the whiteboard's worth of accumulated information… and synchronously tilted their heads.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Naoto. "You confirmed…?"

"She took the helmet off," said Souji. "Nothing underneath but black smoke. …her boyfriend seems enamored by it." Naoto raised an eyebrow. "It takes all kinds."

"I suppose it does," said Naoto noncommittally. "As for the Kirijo Group… whoever is in charge of their data security was extremely thorough. None of my contacts have been able to pierce their firewall. Rumors persist that they're working on something related to neurological physics, but outside of that…"

"If they are, and it's related, they're not doing it in this city," said Souji. "The dullahan girl's never heard of Personas, or a world behind the TV." He thoughtfully wrote a question mark and line between "Shadows" and "Fae." "Maybe we're asking the wrong questions?"

"Almost certainly," said Naoto. "However, I believe we can answer what Adachi has been up to during his off-hours." She flipped through their casefiles and pulled out a page. "The examiner emailed me the autopsy results while you were at your meeting. There was a trace amount of an obscure street hallucinogen called 'Pure Dream' in his system; a derivative of an equally obscure anti-psychosis medication."

She eyed Souji carefully as she handed him the results. "One manufactured by the Kirijo Group's pharmaceutical division."

* * *

"…and she cast Megidolaon, of all things – which is why I'm positive it wasn't the 'real' world, per se. The apartment was left standing," said Junpei as he lounged on a chair in Mitsuru's office. She was giving him an amused look behind an expensive mahogany desk, a large computer display to the side propped up by a fashionably minimalistic pneumatic support. "Damn, that detective really packed a punch."

"Sounds as if you've got a mild crush on her," said Mitsuru teasingly.

"Pfft, you've been drinking with Yukari too often," said Junpei dismissively. "'sides, she's taken. And her _boyfriend_ is… sheesh. I haven't seen brute magical strength like that since Arisato-kun."

"Seta Souji," mused Mitsuru, raising the touchscreen monitor on her desk up. "An intriguing figure. He was an obscurity in the investigative world until the beginning of his relationship with Detective Shirogane. But they worked on a case before even then – in high school. A year after… us."

Junpei carried a troubled expression. "…you don't think…"

"We know for a fact that the Abyss of Time and Tartarus have been and remain sealed," said Mitsuru, shaking her head. "If this is a reoccurrence of the Dark Hour, it is unrelated to Minato-kun's fate." It took a good ear and years of friendship to notice a trace of bitterness as she uttered his name. "According to my associates, there were… peculiarities in the Inaba murder case, but except for the existence of Persona users, there are no similarities."

"Not even Apathy vics?" asked Junpei incredulously.

"Mm, a rampancy of 'fog-related illnesses' during the fall and winter of that year," said Mitsuru as she pulled up a new file. "Though the symptoms don't match perfectly. Nonetheless, you may have a point."

"Eh? Really? Wait 'til I tell Yukari!"

Mitsuru bit back a snerk. "Shut up, Stupei. Extend my invitations to dinner to the two detectives. Next Friday, I think."

"Yes boss. …wait, don't you have dinner with Kujikawa-chan?"

Mitsuru raised an elegant eyebrow. "Why, yes. Kujikawa 'Risette.' A former kidnapping victim. From Inaba."

"…aaahhh."

* * *

The rain was merely drizzling by nightfall, but they were still tense as midnight rolled around. The flatscreen TV gleaned from streetlight down below as their eyes nervously bounced between the display and the clock.

12:01 AM. Souji and Naoto both blew out a sigh of relief.

"No red moon; no Midnight Channel," she murmured. "Thank the gods for small favors – though that only leaves us guessing as to what the trigger conditions are."

"It was a full moon," pondered Souji. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

Naoto leaned onto Souji as they both reclined onto the couch. "Likely. There is a plethora of mythologies concerning the phases of the moon." She shuddered. "Though that would suggest that we're facing the beginning of a serial murder case, then, if the victim is a basis for a monthly Shadow attack."

Souji put his arms around her and squeezed gently, breathing in her freshly washed hair. "That's mostly conjecture at this point. Hopefully we'll learn more from Kirijo-san."

Naoto nodded as she absent-mindedly played with the collar of his t-shirt. "Indeed…" she said, distracted by thought. "Souji."

"Hmm?"

"I'm still upset at you."

"…oh dear." He began to unbutton her pajama's blouse.

"It doesn't matter how tough your Persona's protection is if you're jumping out of windows like that," she said, reaching up and behind her, stroking Souji's gray hair as he worked the last few buttons near the top. "If you… mmm, landed wrong, you would've broken an ankle either way. Yes, right there – so sore today. I need a dress I can actually wear a bra in. Rise's gift is appreciated, but…"

He snickered quietly. "I'll talk to Kanji," said Souji, a muffled voice as he kissed her shoulder. Naoto shuddered as his thumbs teased against the tips of her breast; she grinded against a growing form against the small of her back.

"Not… not to mention," she breathed as a hand slowly caressed down her stomach. "The risk of exposure. What if…" She sucked in a breath as Souji's free hand pushed her pants and panties down. The pressure against her back was incessant now, growing only as he stroked her inner thigh. "What if Iori-san's… alibi didn't pan out? What if the murderer was… watching? Kiss me."

Souji complied; mutually hot breathes mingling as their lips found each other. She pecked at his lips, the tips of their tongue playing against each other as she gave a low whimper. Her lower lips were being toyed with too, his fingertips leaving trails of heat as they teased her.

"You… ah… might have jeopardized us. If it had been an ambush…" His hands paused – then she made a small jump as two fingers gently tapped against her clitoris.

"I'm sorry," said Souji as both hands lowered between her legs, shifting his weight so that his knees rose up between hers, Naoto's eyelids heavy and a finger clenched painfully between her teeth as an obscenely damp sound slowly won over the sound of falling rain. He gently but forcefully pulled the finger out, two fingers on his other hand pumping her torturously slow as she panted her desire, a long and sustained crescendo slowly building up with the sound of her voice. "You're right. I won't make that mistake again."

"Ah… ah…!" Her legs clenched tightly over his, her teeth clacking shut as an orgasm washed over her. The couch trembled as pleasure dashed her senses over.

Then his cell rang.

Souji grunted. He laid Naoto gently onto the couch as he picked his cell phone up from its charger next to the TV. "Seta Souji," he said, his voice flat. "Ah, Iori-san. Oh, really? Thank you." He moved towards the bedroom as Naoto lied still, stars still floating in her vision. "…Friday ought to work. I'll let her know." His voice was muffled by the walls, though she could dimly hear him rummaging through the shelves. "Yes, good night." The faint click of a cell phone closing. She could hear his footsteps approaching back to the living room, smiling as he appeared before her, a foil condom package in his mouth and stripped of everything but the shirt he was taking off.

"Iori-san's arranged a dinner meeting with Kirijo-san for us," said Souji as he kneeled between her legs, carefully tearing open the packet as his hardness pulsed before her. "This Friday – she'll be too busy with the charity event for anything later."

Naoto dreamily took the rubber out of his hands, massaging his testicles with one hand as the other slid the condom on. "I'll leave my schedule open," she murmured as his breathe quickened under her ministrations. They kissed deeply as he entered her smoothly, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as another wave of pleasure languidly built up.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear. "I'll protect you." Souji's breathe grew ragged as the heat between them intensified.

"I love you," she gasped into his ear. "Don't leave me behind." The futon thumped rhythmically below them, a drumline growing in urgency.

"I won't," he promised. "I won't leave – nngh…" She finished first, nails dragging down his back as she cried out, clenching him tightly to her. Her sudden spasm pushed him over the edge in turn, elbows propped heavily against the futon mattress, desperately tried not to crush her as his hips pushed deeply into hers.

They eventually, somehow, made it to bed. The morning found them still closely embraced.


End file.
